


lies

by ren_sauce



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Homophobia, I call it, Mentions of conversion therapy, Mormonism, but for now it's gonna be a little character study oneshot, i don't fucking know i just wanna post it, i guess? his dad hits him, i wrote this two years ago so the writing's shitty, i'm thinking of adding more to it, like once but still, mormon-typical swear-censoring, obviously, the 'connor never goes on his mission and is happy' au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_sauce/pseuds/ren_sauce
Summary: He’s barely even sixteen when he tells his parents he’s gay.He barely even finishes the sentence before his father cuffs him to the ground.





	lies

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno man i've had this in my docs for like two years i'm just gonna post it

He’s barely even sixteen when he tells his parents he’s gay.

He barely even finishes the sentence before his father cuffs him to the ground.

_‘He’s just frustrated’_ is what his mother will tell him later when she tends to his black eye and busted lip. And Connor gets that. He knew how much of a scandal it was when people found out Dave McKinley’s boy had kissed Steve Blade on the kickball field. He knew how much all the therapy had cost, no matter how much his mother had tried to hide it from him. He knew his father had wanted Connor to be more like him. But even so, Connor was still his _son_, gosh darn it! And it was frustrating for him too, to not be like the other boys, to prefer dancing and singing to soccer and roughhousing, to be followed by constant whispers – _‘Did you see McKinley’s boy prancing around in those pink clothes? How are those people raising him?!’_ _‘Did you hear Connor’s doing a tap routine for the talent show? He could at least try to hide it!’ ‘I can’t believe Steve used to be friends with him!’_

It _hurt_. And not just a quick flash of pain, like getting a paper cut or burning your finger. It was a constant kind of hurt – a never ending ache in his stomach, a pain in his forehead, a jolt in his heart. It hurt so much, every single day, and despite all the conversation therapy, all the conversations with the bishop, all the reassurance that it was just a phase, a test sent by God, he still wound up right where he started, sneaking glances at boys arms and stomachs in the changing rooms and losing his breath when he saw those ads in his sisters magazines. And the one thing that hurt more was that his father, his own _father_, the one man he could count on since birth to be there for him, would never be able to accept that.

He gets kicked out of the house the next day.

He spends the night in a dingy little diner down on the rougher part of town. He doesn’t have enough money to buy anything, but he must look terrible enough, because the waitress sets a steaming piece of pie down in front of him with a gentle smile. He tries to return it, but it’s as if he’s forgotten how to.

He hums ‘happy birthday’ to himself quietly before he eats.

oOo

Chris is the one who saves him.

He must’ve found out about it at church or something - Connor’s sure it must be a whole town-wide scandal by now. He can almost hear the whispers starting already. More stupid whispers for him to pretend to ignore.

Chris practically bursts into the twenty four hour diner Connor’s been spending all his nights in and drags him to his feet.

“You’re coming with me.” He says firmly, and Connor’s too tired and too hungry to say no. So tired, in fact, that he almost expects Chris to hit him instead of pulling him into a tight hug.

“It’s okay.” Chris says quietly as Connor sobs into his shoulder. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Chris was never a very good liar.

His parents are a lot more accepting than Connor’s. He knew that Laura’s condition had shaken all of their faith, but they had ultimately decided that God worked in strange ways that not everyone understood, but they should at least try to accept it. It was an interesting approach, but it was one that Connor respected nonetheless, especially in his condition.

Chris’s mother takes one look at him and hugs him tight, like his own mother used to. It’s enough to make him start crying again.

Once he’s been showered and fed and hugged by Mrs Thomas too many times to count, Chris manages to tug him upstairs. They turn left from the stairs and for a single, heartstopping minute, Connor wonders if he’s going to be put in Laura’s room. Her cold, empty room, already being haunted by a premature ghost – or by some kind of horrible manifestation of the Thomas family’s pain, locked and bolted away in that little room, waiting for Connor to open the door and engulf him with his own anger and regret and pain pain  _ pain _ -

He quickly shook the thought away. Laura was a nice girl, kind and funny and a truly terrific dancer - her room wasn’t haunted, just empty. And besides, he doubted the Thomas’s would be so quick to give up her room. Even if they did, it would be rude to refuse. It’s not like he had anywhere else to go, after all.

But, thankfully, Chris steers them to his room, and Connor can breathe again. He knew he shouldn’t be rude, but being put in a dead girls room would only make this whole situation worse.

_ Not dead _ , he hears Chris’s voice chastise in his head.  _ Just... Not well. _

“I have a bunk bed.” Chris smiles reassuringly as he opens the door. “I’ve had it since I was, like, twelve? I just thought they were cool, and I – I  _ begged _ my parents to get me one, and it must’ve cost so much-“ His airy tone dulled as his smile fell. “They... They shouldn’t’ve spent so much money on me. If we’d kept it, we’d be able to pay the hospital bills-“

“Chris.” Connor says gently. “If I blamed myself for getting kicked out by my dad, what would you say?”

“But-!” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s  _ different _ , Connor, that wasn’t your fault-“

“And Laura being in hospital isn’t yours.” Connor smiles as best he can. He hopes it looks better than it feels. “You’re a good person, Chris. This proves it. Now,” He raises his shoulders and slaps on his ‘can-do’ expression. “Which bunk is mine?”

oOo

He stays with the Thomas’s for about a month.

It’s nice – he likes waking up with Chris and sharing stories and playing games, almost like brothers do. Connor had always wanted a brother – his sisters were wonderful, but having a house full of girls when the only other man there didn’t want anything to do with you could make a person feel very... Isolated. They drive to school together, listen to music and chat about silly things that don’t really matter. It’s nice, having an honorary brother. He quite likes it.

Chris’s parents are nice, too; Mrs Thomas was constantly trying to get him to eat more, claiming he was far too skinny – Connor was a little ashamed to admit he liked being doted on so much. She was thrilled when she heard Connor was a dancer, and practically begs him to show her some steps. He tells her she’s a natural at waltzing, and she almost looks as if she’s about to cry. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he wonders if she’s using this to feel closer to Laura. To understand the joy she felt in dancing.

Chris’s father is... Okay. That’s the only way Connor can describe him, really. He keeps his distance, doesn’t talk much, but offers reassuring smiles every now and then, asks him and Chris how their days were and refers to them as ‘the boys’, which makes Connor far more happy than it should. Their common ground is art – Mr Thomas is a painter and Connor always loved to sketch and doodle. It never beat his passion for dancing, but it was still enjoyable, and it gave him something to talk about with Mr Thomas.

He knows he can’t stay forever, though.

“C’mon, Con, my parents love you!” Chris insists, though they both knew that wasn’t the truth. Mrs Thomas liked him well enough, and Mr Thomas seemed fine with coexisting with him, but they both knew this was never going to be a permanent solution.

“I just think I’m overstaying my welcome.” Connor smiles gently. “I am sixteen, it is legal for me to rent a place and live by myself...”

Chris gives him a flat look, and he swiftly quiets. Their hometown was practically the suburb of a suburb – he doubts apartments even exist where they lived.

“Don’t you have an older sister?” Chris frowns. “Lives in the city? Jen, or something-“

“Don’t.” Connor says firmly, because it’s practically instinct at this point. Jen was very much the wild card of the family. When she still lived at home, she’d skip church and do all sorts of things that made their parents angry. She listened to popular music, the aggressive kind with heavy beats that promoted violence and all that stuff the priest at church warned against. She’d even dyed her hair (well, temporary dye for a concert, but still!). She actually smoked pot once – she had  _ actually _ tasted the Devil’s Lettuce and survived. When Connor had asked her about this, eyes wide with awe, she’d just smirked at him and said ‘I’m too tough for God to kill me’.

Connor believed her.

Their parents had somehow managed to coexist with Jen before she went off to art school in New York –  _ New York! –  _ but they barely ever talked about her. And if someone ever dared to bring her up, they’d be met with six ticked off Mormons huffing  _ ‘don’t’. _

But, come to think of it... He was certain Jen was some kind of LGBT ally. She’d fought with her friends to have a GSA at school – she failed, but she still tried. He was sure she’d mentioned something about gay rights and stuff like that before their father had ultimately shut her down. He doubted she was gay herself – as far as he could remember, she’d exclusively dated boys – but nevertheless, she was an ally. Maybe his parents were wrong about her, too...

He decides to shelf that thought for another day. He had plenty of time before he needed to find a new home.

Or so he thought.

He doubts that he was meant to hear the conversation. The Thomas’ were far too polite to do something so petty. But still, he did, and he was unable to shake the words from his head for the rest of the night.

“I’m just saying, we can’t take care of two boys at home, take care of Laura at the hospital, manage her visits  _ and _ keep track of the bills all at the same time!”

Connor freezes as he steps out of the bathroom as guilt pools in his stomach. He’s not supposed to hear this...

“The boy has nowhere else to go, Henry!” Mrs Thomas snaps, and Connor feels a shameful bit of pride and selfishness tucked in the corner of his stomach. Because he wants to stay. He does.

“Oh, come on, Charlotte! We all knew this was never going to last!”

The truth is an ugly, ugly beast.

“And besides...” Mr Thomas mutters, voice lowering. “Maybe boys like  _ him _ aren’t supposed to have anywhere to go.”

Truly ugly, indeed.

“Now stop right there, Henry!” Mrs Thomas snarls low in her throat, enough that even Connor shuffles further into the shadows, just to avoid that scary voice. “You and I both know that whatever Connor is feeling is not a choice-“

“Well, he could at least tone it down a little! I mean, I come home from work and see you two waltzing around our house like – like-“

“Like what, Henry?” Mrs Thomas challenges. “Because if you want to be as intolerant as Connor’s family, you may as well go right ahead and say the darn word!”

There’s silence for a moment. Connor thinks she might have won.

“You know I wouldn’t say it.” Mr Thomas says quietly. “But – well, for heaven's sake, Charlotte, you can’t blame me for being worried! He’s sharing a room with our  _ son _ , what if they were to-“

“If they  _ were _ to do such a thing, which I severely doubt they would, I like to think we would love and accept our son no matter what.”

Connor feels both delighted and crushed at the same time. Delighted at Mrs Thomas for being so progressive, but... Crushed at the thought that his mother would never say the same for him.

“Well – Well of course we would, Charlotte, but-“ Mr Thomas sighs. “Look, this isn’t what I was trying to say. The point is – we don’t have the money, or the time, or the – the  _ anything _ to be in this situation. We can’t take care of him any longer.”

“Then where is he to go?”

“... I have golf with Dave on Sundays-“

“We are  _ not _ putting Connor back in the care of that disgusting man-“

“Now, Charlotte-“

“Did you see what he did to his eye?!”

“If we could just talk to him-“

Connor slowly rises to his feet and pads away from the staircase. He tiptoes into Chris’s room and swipes his phone from the bedside table before hurrying back to the bathroom and scrolling down his contacts list. He knows he has it somewhere...

“Hello?” He says quietly when he hears someone pick up the phone. “It’s, um – th-this is Connor McKinley, I’m looking for-“

_ “Well, well.”  _ A familiar voice chuckles over the phone, as smooth and confident as when they were children.  _ “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for one of you people to call me?” _

Connor almost cries at the easy tone. A small smile tugs at his lips.

“Hi, Jen.”

oOo

“Thank you so much for having me.” Connor says politely when he leaves the Thomas household. The phrase sounds so unbelievable silly when he says it – like he’d just stayed over for a sleepover or something. But he wasn’t really sure what else to say.

“It was our pleasure, dear.” Mrs Thomas smiles as she hugs him. At least she’s a better liar than Chris.

Mr Thomas clears his throat awkwardly when the attention is turned to him.

“I, um.” He mumbled, awkwardly handing Connor a paper bag. “I got this for you. You look like a promising artist and, well – I don’t like letting talent go to waste.”

Connor frowns as he curiously pokes around the bag. He almost gasps when he finds it. It’s a watercolour set – ‘the good kind’, as Mr Thomas would say – some soft, smooth brushes of differing sizes, and a small canvas. It’s a small gift, but it means a lot.

He kind of wants to say something – to tell him he knew it wasn’t easy for him to be around a boy like Connor, especially with his faith, but Connor was still grateful he tried. He keeps his mouth stuff, choosing instead to smile politely and thank him. There was no need to make a big fuss, and besides, Mr Thomas didn’t seem like one for personal talks.

Chris hugs him tight before he leaves in Jen’s car.

“You’d better write to me from New York, doofus.” He mutters, and Connor can tell he’s trying not to cry. He chuckles gently, because honestly, he feels like he’s about to cry too, and wraps his arms around his friend's waist.

“You’re the doofus.” He smirks, pinching his friends hip. “And I think if we keep hugging, your parents will think I’m turning you gay.”

“Oh, no.” Chris snorts, giving him one last squeeze before he pulls away. “No, they can thank James Church for that.”

“What?!” Connor practically squawks before Chris steps on his foot indignantly.

“Not so loud!” He hisses, shoving Connor to the car. “Bye now, have fun in New York, send me pictures!”

“Christopher Thomas, you are  _ so _ texting me details later!” Connor snaps as he’s ungracefully stuffed into the passenger seat. Chris just smirks and ruffles his hair before jogging back indoors. If Connor catches him furiously wiping at his eyes as the car pulls away, who’s really to say?

Jen goes to collect his stuff from the house when his father’s at work. His mother lets her in, and while Connor knows she still somewhat cares about him, and he’s very aware she can see him hiding in Jen’s car, he still refuses to come out. If he has to go back into that house again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to leave. He’ll be stuck, trapped in that web of lies and misery and awful, awful pain, with no escape.

He swallows down his fears and pulls out the canvas from the paper bag Mr Thomas gave him. He can’t paint just yet – he has no water for the paints, and the brushes look pretty stiff from the packaging – but it’s calming to run his fingers down the bumpy fabric and feel what’s real.

“Knock, knock.” Jen smiles as she opens the door. Connor scoffs. He’d always been intimidated by her when they were kids – now, though... She just seems like a regular person. She didn’t break the rules, necessarily – just followed her own path. Maybe Connor would be able to do that, too...

“How long to New York?” Connor asks quietly as he curls up in his seat.

“About a twelve hour drive.” Jen shrugs as she turns the keys. “Better get comfy, private.”

Connor frowns. “Private?”

“Doesn’t it feel that way?” Jen smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean – people do say life’s a battlefield. Or, I dunno, something like that. I’d say you served for a good while.”

Connor just hums, because he’s not sure what else to say. Now that she’s said it, it does feel that way. He’d gone through countless battles – from kissing Steve Blade on the kickball field to dealing with the whispers to conversion therapy to getting kicked out – the battles had ranged from little to large, but they’d still taken a toll. He was looking forward to finally getting some rest.

“Mom says she’s sorry.” Jen says quietly as the pull out of the drive.

“Oh.” Connor nods. “Did she say anything else?”

Jen’s quiet for a moment.

“She says she loves you.”

Connor’s mouth pinches slightly, like he just ate something sour. He turns his gaze out the window and watches the trees and houses go by.

“You’re a better liar than Chris.”

Jen doesn’t respond, and he’s grateful for that.

He’s had enough of explaining himself.


End file.
